


baby daddy (flyin' with ya)

by blifuys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (It's not outright but they ARE pining for each other), Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining, baby fic (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: “Okay, so this is going to sound a little rushed, but…” Claude smiles sheepishly, his hand reaching up to gently rub Cinnamon’s head, which happily bumps itself against his palm. “I think we should try to teach her to fly again. Like, now.”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 103





	baby daddy (flyin' with ya)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silmarwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmarwen/gifts).



> BABY WYVERN FIC BABY WYVERN FIC

Two figures stand in the middle of the great throne room, one taller and bulkier than the other. The tall, marble walls close in on him as he approaches the still figures, claustrophobia tightening its cold white-knuckled fist around his heart.

“Father?”

His voice is tiny and small, wrecked with sheer _loneliness_ and want. Dimitri doesn’t understand what’s going on—where are the guards? Why did he feel so cold? With so many layers of furs, it seems illogical that his fingers and toes feel like icicles, barely moveable in his gloves that feel way too tight.

Why isn’t his father turning around? From afar, his father and stepmother looked like ghosts; like hollow translucent spectres barely seen in the shadows. The boy does not feel relief when he approaches them, and the closer he gets to the middle of the hall, the more his heart trembled in fear. Uncertainty shoots through his spine like lightning.

But before he gets too close, he hears it—

“Dimitri.”

The familiar voice calls out to him in the dark, a ghostly apparition crooning to him like a siren call, lulling him towards the forests from which the cries come.

Wait, _forests?_

The boy is suddenly surrounded by snow-capped pine trees, great marble walls crumbling around him, with no one else left in sight.

“Dimitri.”

There is no face to the voice that croons his name, although the sound is so familiar that Dimitri can _almost_ match an identity to it. If he tried hard enough, he can almost picture it—dark, wavy hair, a lopsided smirk, eyes the shade of emeralds hidden in pirate chests, sunk deep below the waters off the Northern coast of Faerghus—

“Dimitri. _Dimitri_ , OI!”

The firm, snappy call jolts him out of slumber, shocking the sounds of the waves crashing against the cold sand out of his head. Instead of azure blue skies and the cries of seagulls riding upon the ocean winds, Dimitri is brought back into the waking world where the sun still rests under the horizon. His room is still dark, and the candle he remembers lighting before falling asleep is gone—probably long extinguished in the few hours he managed to rest.

The young princeling in him almost expects to wake up in his chilly bedchambers in Castle Fhirdiad, illuminated only by the moon hanging high in the sky like a lamp. For a split second, his body prepares to move; readying itself for a night knee-deep in snow, holding up barrels filled with iron scraps as he trains in the frigid snow-capped mountains. But as his eyes adjust to the dark, he does not find himself in Faerghus, but in his small stone-walled dorm room in Garreg Mach Monastery.

With a visitor.

Dimitri is almost convinced that an assassin has paid him a visit, successfully blending into the shadows and sneaking past the monastery’s guards to attempt on the Crown Prince’s life. But where he _should_ find a shady figure with a knife raised high above his head—blade glinting in the moonlight as they prepare to strike; he finds a smaller figure than himself, dressed in thin nightclothes with only a black and gold coat thrown over his shoulders for warmth. A boy sits by his bedside, replacing the spectres that follow him like a moth to a light.

“Cl… Claude? What time is it?” Dimitri asks his sudden visitor, his voice crackly from sleep. “Did something happen?”

Claude’s face curls in familiar mischief. His presence feels much like sunlight streaming through the windowpanes, lighting up the tightest corners of his room. The wavy-haired man seems like he’s only recently woken up himself, much more dishevelled than usual—but before Claude can properly reply Dimitri’s question, an enthusiastic squeal cuts him off.

“Wwwwrr!” Around Claude’s neck, clashing against the pastel yellow of the house leader’s cotton pyjamas and the black of his uniform coat, a scaly creature unfurls—revealing bright, golden eyes barely glowing in the dark. The baby wyvern (—affectionately dubbed as Cinnamon, after an incident in the Dining Hall at night involving cinnamon sticks and a horrid allergic reaction after—) squawks contentedly, blissfully unaware that she and her owner had barged into Dimitri’s room unannounced, while the rest of the monastery lays dormant from slumber.

“Okay, so this is going to sound a little rushed, but…” Claude smiles sheepishly, his hand reaching up to gently rub Cinnamon’s head, which happily bumps itself against his palm. “I think we should try to teach her to fly again. Like, now.”

“Now?” Dimitri asks.

“Now.” Claude repeats.

Cinnamon trills in glee, as if advocating for another flying lesson despite how _late_ it is. Dimitri is not entirely well-read about wyvern, nor is he an expert on wyvern husbandry. It is far from being his strong suit even, if Professor Byleth’s multiple inked crosses on his flying assignment is anything to base his proficiency on. Perhaps her age plays heavily into her attitude towards Dimitri, but the prince knows for a fact that wyverns do _not_ like him. The teeth marks embedded in his metal gauntlets tell him very much so that he is not a popular presence in the wyvern stables, and it shocks him to the core that Cinnamon adores him as much as she does her owner.

And to be honest? He adores her too.

He’s seen Cinnamon fumble and trip over her own paws, stumbling over the cobblestone of Dimitri’s floor with pink daisies hanging from her jaw—stems lightly crumpled from the force of her bite. The three of them—Claude, Cinnamon and himself—have shared moments that were surprisingly domestic, where Cinnamon had fallen asleep on both their laps, as the future heirs of two nations pressed up against each other, books in hand as they shared comforting silence.

To think of Cinnamon flying for the first time makes warmth bubble up in Dimitri’s chest. He wonders if this feeling, this pleasant, warm tingle in his heart is akin to what parents feel—right down to the heavy steak of sentiment that time is passing by far too quickly.

“Alright,” Dimitri stretches as he feels the bones in his back and shoulders pop, the fog of sleep already beginning to lift. “Do you have a good feeling about this attempt?”

“Definitely,” Claude grins in response. Cinnamon slides herself down into his arms, shrinking her elongated body and curling up in his arms like a babe. “I think tonight’s the night.”

“Alright, I trust you.” Dimitri chuckles, pushing himself off the plush mattress to get dressed. His bare feet take him straight to his desk, hand reaching out for his uniform top, long abandoned and left over the back of his wooden school-issued chair. “Where are we headed?”

Claude stands up, gathering Cinnamon in his arms properly, tucking her white, pearlescent tail against the inside of his arm. There’s a twinkle in his eye that tells Dimitri that he’s planned this, and that Dimitri surely has a role to play in his new schemes.

“I know _just_ the spot.”

\---

“Claude, how on _earth_ did you manage to get us up here?” Dimitri is both shocked and impressed—something he finds himself feeling more and more whenever he’s around the slightly smaller man. “There should be guards around this time, right?”

“There _should_ be, yes.” Claude’s eyes twinkle with glee. “But I guess they’re a little busy tonight.”

“ _Claude._ ”

“Whaaat? All I did was offer them a snack! Though I guess my ingredients _were_ a little… rich.”

Dimitri sighs, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. By now, he’s well acquainted with plots and schemes—something one could not escape whenever they deal with one Claude von Riegan, but Claude’s shrewdness never fails to impress and surprise Dimitri at the same time.

The two of them stand on the stone bridge outside of the cathedral, leading up to the Goddess Tower that towers high above their heads; its formidable silhouette almost eerie at night. Without high walls on the bridge, the high-altitude winds are strong, and Dimitri feels the need to tread carefully. There is nothing but ground below them, after all, and the fall seems particularly painful—ridden with jagged rocks and slippery mountain all the way down.

“Are you sure about… _this_?” Hesitant apprehension grips Dimitri’s heart, and he feels the need to reach out for Cinnamon himself; who happily hops into his welcoming arms with a delighted sound. His arms tighten around her protectively, face twisting into a frown. “I don’t think she can fly all the way down—she can barely lift herself off the ground—”

“ _Dimitri,_ calm down, I’m not gonna toss her off the bridge!” Claude laughs and shakes his head. “We’re going to use this bridge itself, with the two of us, it’ll be safe!”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Dimitri wills himself to loosen his hold around Cinnamon, who crawls out of his arms and onto his shoulders. “How are we going to do this?”

“Like how we usually do it!” The other houseleader walks up to Dimitri, before gently picking up the wyvern and holding her above his head. “Let’s go!”

Without warning, Claude dashes down the bridge, arms high above his head as the wyvern in his hands spreads her wings. The sight is heartwarming—Cinnamon trilling with glee as her pearlescent limbs flap in the wind; trying so hard to lift herself up and off her owner. Claude’s encouraging laughter is music to Dimitri’s ears, a gentle sound in the gusts of wind blowing through his blonde hair, rushing through his fingertips. For a fleeting second, he feels as if _he_ could be the one to fly—this rush of euphoria lifting his heart above the heavens and on top of the world.

For a fleeting second, he feels at _home_ , like he’s found a family in a mysterious peer and his baby wyvern.

\---

Fifteen minutes after the three of them began rushing up and down the stone bridge, Claude suddenly exclaims—emerald eyes snapping wide open.

“I think it’s working!”

Dimitri’s head snaps up immediately, watching Cinnamon flap her wings with a rhythm he’s witnessed from the wyverns in flying class. The small body lifts itself off from Claude’s hands, fingers bare as Cinnamon pushes herself higher into the night. Her trills echo above their heads, declaring the beginning of her reign in the skies. Watching her twist and loop mid-flight puts a smile on Dimitri’s face—parental pride washing through his body as he finally comes to a stop with Claude.

“She did it!” Claude hollers, hooting with joy as he throws his fists in the air. “ _YES_!”

The two of them watch Cinnamon; pearlescent sheen clashing against the starry, starry night. As the euphoric rush of excitement begins to settle over the both of them, Dimitri notices warm fingers curl around his, a warm thumb brushing over his knuckles and thawing his cold fingertips. Dimitri turns his head, coming face to face with Claude’s endeared smile—so different from his usual, tight smirk; emerald eyes softening.

“Hey,” Claude mutters. “Thanks. I think I speak for Cinnamon and myself when I say that we couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I—” Dimitri stutters. How could anyone say that so calmly? He hadn’t done anything substantial; all the prince has done thus far is offer support—acting as their cheerleader as and when they needed. To say that they couldn’t have done it without _him_ was a far cry—

“WWWRR!”

It happens far too quickly for Dimitri to register, but a sudden pressure on his chest sends him flying back onto the stone floor, his arms reaching up to catch whatever’s crashed into him. His fingers run over a scales, and he realises that Cinnamon’s slammed into him; perhaps too small to resist the strong winds characteristic of one of Fodlan’s highest points—a monastery on top of a mountain, gently brushing the clouds. Claude simply laughs, watching Dimitri and Cinnamon fumble on the ground.

“Alright, I think that’s enough flying for one night,” Claude crouches before the prince, reaching out to stroke the baby wyvern’s head, thumb running over her forehead in gentle, circular motions. “I think it’s time for bed for you, _and_ you.”

Claude’s gaze leaves the wyvern, meeting Dimitri’s azure eyes in the night. It’s no secret that his fellow houseleader has a hold over his heart; every time they’re alone, his heart seems to twist in all directions, so much like a wyvern in flight. Be it spellwork or simple feelings that Dimitri is ill-equipped to dissect at the moment, their moments shared together pushes the prince further into the deep end, further past the point of no return.

But did Dimitri wish to turn back? He didn’t know.

His heart swells as he reaches out, his pale hand curling around Claude’s as he stares upwards. In the moonlight, Claude looks ethereal—goddess-like. Instead of the goddess herself, Dimitri wonders if he’ll sink to his knees and kneel before the Leicester heir instead; giving praise to something so much more _tangible_.

No. Dimitri didn’t wish to turn back.

“Bedtime for _you_ too, Claude. Isn’t that right, Cinnamon?”

Cinnamon trills in agreement, and Claude’s laugh follows Dimitri into his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I can Only Hope this was up to expectations
> 
> [stay fresh, come vibe with me](https://twitter.com/blifuys)


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